Readers’ note: this post is part 2 in a series. If you haven’t seen part 1 yet, please go here first. I guarantee you will not be disappointed. Unless you hate hilarious stories about boys losing their virginity. In that case you might, very well, be disappointed.

Maybe dudes are better when used as chairs! (Strap-on chair design and image credit to Annika Schmidt, http://dvice.com/pics/Strap-On-Chair-Annika-Schmidt.jpg)

4. You don’t REALLY need a dude, do you? (With apologies to my actual dude, who is awesome. But who cannot roller skate.)

It’s no secret that derby loves ladies who love ladies. In fact, as our own Rock Bottom has pointed out, derby is often the first safe-space available for women questioning their sexual identity. But even if you aren’t a member of the Vagine Regime, chances are that at some point in your derby life, you’ve thought to yourself, “Wow. Girls really ARE hotter than boys.” And they can DO pretty much anything boys can do, too. Think about it. Even if you’re the straightest edge in the toolbox (WTF metaphor?!?), isn’t there something enticing about knowing that your derby wife could kick your boyfriend’s ass? There’s often a lot more intimacy – and sweating, and panting – involved in an intense set of suicides than in the most extreme bedroom experiences. And when you find someone who skates in the same rhythms and patterns that you do – whose style and speed are in perfect unison with yours – you may start to wonder why you stopped hanging “no boys allowed” signs on your treehouse back when you hit puberty.

Stupid puberty.

5. Despite what we’d like to believe, sometimes you DO need 3rd-party intervention.

If you’ve never played roller derby, you probably don’t realize how many people are necessary to put on a bout; but experienced attendees have probably noticed that the players aren’t the only ones involved. There are the multitudes of refs who call the penalties and count the points; then there are the NSOs who track those calls and make sure the stats get recorded. That’s about 20 people, and I haven’t even COUNTED all the volunteers needed to set up the venue before-hand, take tickets at the door, and sell merchandise! And what about the fans? Derby wouldn’t be nearly as fun without the crowd!

We don’t usually think of our bedroom antics as public spectacle, though. As El Toupee said in the comments of Part 1, “I just pray nothing bedroom-related requires the services of seven referees and a full contingent of NSO’s (Action and Error Tracking might prove somewhat embarrassing!).” I laughed out loud at the comment… and then I immediately started thinking, how many people’s sex lives are REALLY 100% private? Sure, we perpetuate the idea that sex is confined to the bedroom. But even the most private people I know require one or two friends to do post-game analysis and scorekeeping when they take on a new partner. And when that new partner does something off-the-wall, there’s the friend you call for play analysis, the one who helps you decide whether to send them to the penalty box or eject them altogether.

Our sex lives wouldn’t be anything without our refs and NSOs.

6. Don’t forget about your teammate(s)! (Credit for this one goes to Rage in the comments on Pt 1!)

Last night I thought I was having the best scrimmage of my career. I was playing pivot against some of our team’s heaviest hitters, and for the first time ever I realized I wasn’t scared of getting hit. I had guts and determination. I had skill. And I skated my fucking heart out. I was moving from side to side like lightning, shoving people out of bounds with only one foot on the floor, and tomahawking (successfully!) to keep the blockers on the inside line from reaching my jammer as she flew threw the center of the pack. It was the equivalent of a double-digit orgasm night; I ended the jam exhausted but satisfied…

Until I realized that literally no one else had been having fun, or feeling good. My teammates and I had lost track of each other throughout the jam, failing to form obvious walls at opportune times. One of us even forgot temporarily what side she was playing for and went in for a hit on the wrong jammer. While I had been skating around thinking I’m Queen of the Damn Rink!, everyone else had felt confused and disoriented. And it had all happened while I was wearing the pivot panty. It wasn’t my job to be the star. It was my job to keep everyone together, to make sure my teammates knew what to do and when to do it.

It isn’t your job to be the only star in the bedroom either. Double-digit orgasms are more fun if everyone gets to play, so unless you’re a dedicated onanist, the fact that you’re feeling awesome doesn’t mean anything if you’ve totally lost track of your partner. At your best, you should be working in sync, paying attention to each other’s rhythms and “coming” together (ha ha! I crack myself up!). But even at your worst, you should at least know where they are on the track.

I could keep going all day with this. So if you’re enjoying the series, keep the comments coming (ha ha! There’s that word again! I’m like a 12-year-old.) and I’ll put up a new piece of the series every couple of weeks. Or until I get bored.